


Persuasion

by Aelia_D



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Sexual Content, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brynjolf wants the Dragonborn in the Thieves' Guild, but the Dragonborn is having none of it, until Brynjolf starts to play dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he saw the girl, he had thought she'd be an easy mark. He'd heard her pay the "tax" to the gate guards. Seen her asking around, seen her  _trusting_  absolute strangers- including those as obviously shady as Maul- not to lead her wrong. Kids like that- the trusting sort- often wanted people to think they were a hard-ass when they weren't. They'd do one small thing and count on it to tarnish a spotless reputation.

"Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass?" He'd asked. She'd stared at him blankly for a heartbeat too long before replying.

"I'm sorry, what?" Her dark eyes had been confused, and he'd liked that. Confused meant easy.

"I'm saying you've got the coin but you didn't earn a septim of it honestly. I can tell." He knew she'd go along with it. Kids like her, they always wanted to be harder than they were.

"How could you possibly know that?" She'd asked, her gaze guarded for the first time. Still, he'd play her right into his hands. Get her to do a bit of his dirty-work. Maybe enjoy the view while he was at it. She wasn't bad to look at, with curves in all the right places.

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass." She'd frowned at him, but he'd continued. "The way they walk, what they're wearing." At that she glanced down at her simple studded leather armor. He saw the way her brows knit together. She didn't know what to make of this conversation, and that was perfect. "It's a dead giveaway."

"My wealth is none of your business." She'd snapped. There was a fire in those eyes. Just for a moment, but it was enough to spark his interest. Maybe after she did this little  _task_ for him, he would see what else could spark that heat in her gaze.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong." He'd smiled, then. She was following along so perfectly. "Wealth _is_ my business." Her frown had deepened, but he knew it was just because she was confused. A simple country lass couldn't be expected to know much about life in a city, especially one like Riften. "Maybe you'd like a taste?"

"What do you have in mind?" There might have been caution in her voice, and it made him pause. She couldn't be wise to him yet. He was just imagining things.

"I've got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands." He didn't really need the help, but it would make his job a little more entertaining, and would give him someone to throw to the guards if he was noticed. Not that he ever was. "And in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid."

If nothing else had hooked her so far, the prospect of money was sure to do the job.

"What do I have to do?" Again, that edge of caution. He couldn't deny it this time. Something had her wary. He didn't frown, because that would have given it away, but he wanted to.

"Simple... I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing.

"Why plant the ring on Brand-Shei?"

"There's someone that wants to see him put out of business permanently. That's all you need to know." He paused, hoping that would be enough to put her off. "Now, you tell me when you're ready and we'll get started."

"No." One syllable, and he froze.  _That_  was unexpected.

"What?"

"I said, No. I'm not setting up some poor innocent so you can make some dirty septims."

Before he could react, she'd turned and stormed away.

Ah, well. He could find someone else to help him. Sure, it would have been entertaining to have such a pretty lass do his dirty work but, there would be others.


	2. Chapter 2

Her name was Emeline, and she was a kind-hearted lass. She would lend an ear to anyone with a mind to talk it off, and gave septim after septim to the useless mumpers who sold her with their sob stories.

Apparently, she  _was_  an easy mark. For everyone. Except him.

The lass was listening to Brand-Shei's sob-story and  _nodding_  as if she were going to embark on some idiotic mission for the Dunmer. Still, that wasn't the worst part. The part that got to him was how she was leaning over the stall counter, displaying certain  _assets_  to any in the marketplace who cared to look. She wiggled her hips a little as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, and Brynjolf had to look away.

Someone had to teach that lass some decorum before she got herself into trouble. A man might get the wrong idea from her, might take advantage of her innocence. Certainly not an upstanding citizen like himself. No, he wasn't interested in her. She was just an embarrassing annoyance that wouldn't go away. But she needed to know she had to be careful.

She ignored him as she left the market, though she walked right past him. He caught the light scent of vanilla as she passed.

The determination on her face gave him pause whenever he thought of her. Which wasn't often. It wasn't like he found the lass intriguing. No, Emeline was just another bumpkin trying to make her mark on the big city. Unfortunately, he knew the big city would make its mark on her instead, and she'd flee home to ma and pa in tears.

Before he knew it, she was back, her dark hair bedraggled, dirt and a few bruises marring her skin. She was skinnier- as if she hadn't been eating well, if at all- and she was clearly tired. He saw pain in the way she carried herself, but the smile she gave Brand-Shei was carefree.

The Dunmer seized upon a book she showed him, clearly excited by whatever it contained. The look he gave her was one of unbridled gratitude as he handed her something in exchange. Emeline took it with a charming smile, and left the marketplace. She slanted a glance Brynjolf's way and gave him a small smirk when she passed.

Huh.

Perhaps there was something to that good-girl angle, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

****When the lass walked into the Bee and Barb and began glaring daggers at Sapphire, he knew he was in for some entertainment.

"Yeah? What's your problem?" He could hear Sapphire's petulant tone from across the room. Emeline smiled a wicked smile at the woman, and Brynjolf felt his estimation of the girl go up a notch. Just a small one, however.

Emeline's response was too quiet for him to hear, and Sapphire's voice dropped a bit, too. All he could catch was "stupid kid" and "weasel." The lass was working for Sapphire? But she wouldn't do a simple job for him?

He frowned, and surreptitiously tried to get closer, but the lass spotted him. She gave him a  _look_ that made him pause. It was the look of a hardened warrior. A dangerous person. The lass was so small, and so young that he doubted she had the teeth to back that up, though he did not want to find out right then. So he kept his distance and listened more carefully.

"You and I both know this is a setup." The kid said. He heard derision in her voice, and it made him wonder once more what was happening. He'd thought he had a read on the situation, but her attitude said otherwise.

The kid nodded in response to whatever Sapphire hissed at her. She flashed a grin at the cranky guildmember, and left the inn.

"What was that about?" He asked, leaning on the wall beside Sapphire, trapping her with his body.

"None of your business, Bryn." She growled, shoved him out of her way, and stormed out the same way Emeline had.

Brynjolf was left staring after them both, a bemused expression on his face. What on earth was the lass up to?


	4. Chapter 4

His next clue that there was more to the lass than he'd first realized came in the form of Mjoll-the-Prude clutching her sword to her chest and crying. Her little Imperial  _friend_  stared on with a sappy look on his face.

"I knew she could do it," Mjoll had breathed, beaming up at her friend with the softest look he had ever seen on her. She was almost pretty that way, and for a moment he could understand why the Imperial followed her around like a lost puppy.

Brynjolf frowned, but continued walking past the scene, pretending he was not intrigued. The lass drifted in and out of Riften, here or there for days or weeks at a time. He had thought that there was more to her, but it seemed that she was just a  _philanthropist_. The word felt dirty to him. Helping others for free should be a crime. There was always a profit to be made, an angle to be worked. But he could not discern any possible angle from her actions.

She was an enigma. He had always enjoyed puzzles. He thought about her due to the mystery surrounding her motivations. It wasn't that he was  _attracted_  to her. That was absurd.

He was nearly to the market when he saw her, a small sheet of parchment in her hand. She was talking to Brand-Shei once more, leaning over the stall in front of him.

"Mara can't help me." He sighed. "No one can."

Interesting.

He knew the exact moment she sighted him, because a look of consternation crossed her face, only to be replaced with a smile.

"Brynjolf!" she said too-cheerfully. He froze in place as she strode toward him, a bundle of parchment cradled between her arm and her body, a single sheet held in her hand. Emeline was upon him before he fully realized his predicament. He could flee like a coward, or he could stand his ground and face her. And frankly, the ramifications of fleeing from this slip of a girl in the middle of Riften's market were too severe to contemplate.

"Why hello there, Lass." He smiled his most charming smile, and hoped she would believe he was happy to see her. In fact, it was nice to  _see_  her, but only from a distance where he could examine her shapely curves. He was not, however, terribly interested in  _talking_  with her, which is what he was sure she had in mind.

"Have you accepted Mara into your life?" She asked. Her face was mirthful, her lips curved into a smile, but there was a bite of sarcasm in her voice, an undertone that he could not quite put a finger on. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought the lass was  _teasing_  him.

"I'm sorry, Lass, but I'm dedicated to a different divine." He reached out, and pressed her extended hand back against her chest. He just wanted to get the offending pamphlet as far away from himself as possible. He would certainly never try to cop a feel of an innocent young lass's appealing bosom.

Her eyes narrowed, but her smile never flickered.

"That is unfortunate, as I happen to be a fan..." She paused, gave him a once-over. He saw something in the gaze she raked over his body, was sure she was about to proposition him, but then she completed her sentence with a smirk. "Of Mara, of course."

She slipped her hand out of his grasp, tucked a pamphlet into his hand, and sauntered off.


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow, the lass became Thane. He wasn't entirely clear on how it happened, because Maven Black-Briar was incensed at the proclamation. He had thought the woman had all of Riften in her pocket, but apparently the Jarl had just enough of a spine to post Emeline to the position.

Despite his expectations, each time she went out on another fool's errand for one of the townfolk, she came back. Every time he left, he expected to see the last of her, and each time she returned, he was more and more bewildered.

How on earth was she surviving?

When she entered Riften with a hulk of a man in steel armor, he had his answer. The man glowered at everyone, the look made darker by black warpaint which rimmed his eyes. He hovered in a possessive way, his gaze warning that she was his.

Later, Brynjolf would tell himself that his choice to approach the girl had nothing to do with the fact that she had apparently been claimed. That it had nothing to do with the sly glances and the smirks she threw him. That it wasn't that her leather pants clung to a shapely rear in a way that drew his gaze. No, it was because he needed her in his guild. One way or another.

"Lass," he said with his most charming smile. "I didn't expect you to be back so soon."

"You're wondering who my friend is?" She asked, giving him another of the sly glances that made him think she was so promising. The lass gave away everything and nothing with that glance. It was just that she had not been properly corrupted yet, and given the time, he was sure he could manage it.

"Can't a gent say hello without a lass thinking he's got another motive?"

"He could, if he was anyone but you." She smiled, and aside from her eyes, it was genuine enough that he could believe she meant it. "This is Farkas, he's one of the Companions."

"You wound me, lass." He teased, placing a hand against his chest in mock pain. The smile he gave her friend was less warm. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Farkas."

The man's eyes were cold, and his lips were thin as he forced a smile onto his face. The man was an open book, his displeasure clear as day. "A pleasure."

The men eyed each other over Emeline's head. Farkas was big, and heavily muscled, the sort of man who was used to bashing people's heads in to get what he wanted. Brynjolf was not a slight man- except by comparison- but he had always preferred a more  _indirect_  approach. He could probably take the Companion in a fight, but it was best if they never tried their blades against one another.

"How are you enjoying our lovely little city?" Brynjolf asked the man, ignoring the lass between them. He resisted the urge to even glance at her face, knowing that it would give away his game.

The man quirked an eyebrow,  _his_  eyes dropping to the back of Emeline's head and back before he answered. "It's an interesting town."

"Have you had a chance to enjoy some of our fine Black-Briar Mead?"

"N-ooo." A frown crossed the Companion's face as he tried to figure out what Brynjolf was up to. He was sure there was something, that much was clear from his expression, but as long as he was a little behind Brynjolf, all would be well.

"Well then, let me treat you to a pint over at the Bee and Barb," He threw an arm around the man's shoulders and towed him along before he could resist. "You're welcome to come along as well, lass." He called back as they strode.

He couldn't resist a quick peek at her face, which was displaying a gamut of emotions; confusion, irritation, fury, they all flashed in quick succession before she strode after them, her footfalls audible in what had to be her version of stomping her feet. He wanted to chuckle, but couldn't show his hand just yet. He had  _plans_  for the lass, and she would fall in line with them one way or another.

"We're famed for our Mead," he informed Farkas as they entered the establishment. "The Black-Briar family makes the best mead in all of Skyrim." He hailed Keerava and gestured to the man. "A Black-Briar mead for my friend and me."

"Just one," Farkas said, the doubt audible in his voice.

"How about none?" Emeline interjected, her hands upon her hips and a frown curving her lovely lips downward.

"Lass," Brynjolf smiled at her. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink? It's a long and dusty road from-" he paused, and took a long gulp from his tankard for effect. "Whiterun."

Farkas eyed the mead, his gaze traveling from the tankard of golden liquid to Emeline and back. Clearly deciding that he would have the mead, he took a long drag. Emeline made a strangled noise of fury, threw her hands up in the air, and stormed off.

"Ah, well. More for us," Brynjolf smiled and gestured to Keevara to refill Farkas' tankard. "The lass will be back."

Farkas nodded and drank more, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his mug had been replaced. Whether he was drinking because he enjoyed mead, or whether it was because he was steeling himself for Emeline's fury, Brynjolf couldn't say, but the man drank the mead quickly.

It was too easy.

"So how did you end up traveling with her?" Brynjolf asked, still nursing his first.

"She's a Companion," Farkas replied, his voice a low rumble without any sign of the slur Brynjolf wanted to hear. "She asked me to come along, and I did." He paused for another swig of mead. "Said she needed some help dealing with her  _problem_ , but didn't say what the problem was."

"I see." Brynjolf said, gesturing for yet another refill as Farkas set down a nearly empty tankard.

"I think I figured out her problem, though." Farkas pinned him with an unnervingly steady gaze, his lips tightening. Brynjolf met the man's icy glare, and held his eyes. It was Farkas who looked away.

He drained the tankard in one long drag, and placed it on the counter once more with a thunk. His lips were razor thin as he caught Brynjolf's eye once more. "She's too good for you."

Brynjolf was left staring at the man's back as he left. He cursed, dropped a few septims on the counter, and departed through the other door. He was done staring at people's backs. Done doing this the indirect way. He would have her. She would join his guild, one way or another.


	6. Chapter 6

He plotted and planned, and waited for an opportunity. An opening. She was gone for a few weeks, and even as he thought of his plan, he knew it would take some time to spring his trap. This was the part that he thrived upon; the quiet before the attack, the time when you thought and re-thought all of your strategies, your measures and counter-measures.

This was the time when he thought about her, bare before him. Because he had to face the fact that he wanted the lass naked. He wanted her in his bed, moaning and making noises of sweet satisfaction.

He wasn't sure when that fact had dawned on him, but it might have been about the time that he realized every one of his plans involved her in his bed, his hands on her lithe form. It was merely lust, borne of curiosity. A feeling he could deal with by having her once, so the curiosity would diminish. Just once was all he would need, and then she would be his. His  _guild's_.

There was no doubt in his mind that satisfying her would make her more amenable to his suggestions. So he would wear her down the best way he knew; with a good tumble.

Aye, it was a good plan.

A good plan indeed.

He just had to wait for his opening.


	7. Chapter 7

"Lass," he was careful as he approached her, knowing that one wrong move would tip her off, or annoy her and send her storming away again. "Might I have a word?"

Emeline's glance was quizzical, but she paused what she was doing, and gave him her attention. Her stance was far from ideal- one hip was cocked, a gauntleted-fist resting upon it, he could sense her toes tapping mentally as she wondered how long this would take.

"Ach, Lass, this is going to take a bit to explain, might we talk about it somewhere," he glanced around, at the people in the market who were hardly paying them any mind "more private?"

He swore her lips twitched into a smirk, but it was a fleeting expression. She seemed to contemplate for a moment, her eyes searching his face for something, but then nodded her assent.

"Fine, come by Honeyside around sunset. I have a few things to take care of in the meantime so if you don't mind?"

He smiled at her, and stepped out of the way.

Things were coming together nicely.

Later that night, Brynjolf was on his way to Honeyside when he encountered the guards. A whole mess of them running around, shouting at each other, and anyone who got in their way.  _Something_ had happened, and he'd bet his last septim that it was interesting.

So he crept closer, and listened. He heard snippets of conversation "Maven" and "burgled" came up again and again. He frowned. Nobody was stupid enough to steal from Maven Black-Briar. Nobody except-

"Emeline!" He swore. That daft lass had caused a heap of trouble. For him, and for the guild. And by the nine, he  _would_ set her straight.

He was turning away, preparing continue on to Honeyside when he heard someone shout "It's been found!"

Curiosity got the best of him. He kept to the shadows so none of them would notice and send him on his way, but if the guild stole something, it stayed gone, so he would be safe from suspicion. They went to the orphanage. He heard shouting, some angry, some gleeful, and then Grelod the Kind was being marched out of the orphanage at sword-point. One of the men behind her held a strongbox.

He didn't need to see more. He understood what had happened here, and it irritated him more than it probably should have. Yes, this was inconvenient, because Maven Black-Briar was one of the guild's most regular patrons. But the real irritation came from the fact that she was apparently willing to work for anyone but him.

He didn't bother with stealth as he marched over to Honeyside. She was there, waiting for him, a smirk on her lips.

"Lass," He informed her, "This ends now."

And then he seized her, held her body against his, and captured her lips with his own. He was surprised to realize that she was kissing him back, and while she hooked one arm around his neck, the other fumbled with the door behind her.

They stumbled through the door, and nearly fell before they had to pull apart. She grinned up at him.

"Finally." She said.

"Finally?" He couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice, couldn't stop the way his eyebrow quirked upward. "What do you mean,  _finally_?"

The smile she gave him was coy as she gazed up at him through thick lashes. She stretched up on her toes to twine her arms around his neck and run her fingers through his hair. Her soft body pressed against him, tempting him. His hands found her rear, and he kneaded the perfect, soft mounds of flesh. She whimpered, and brought her lips to his, kissing him deeply.

It effectively distracted him from his question.

She tasted of sweet mead, he discovered after she had parted her lips to allow his tongue to plunder her mouth. Better than he'd imagined. She wore a simple outfit, something a barmaid might wear, and he could feel her warmth through the thin fabric. He thought of how easy it would be to slide his hands into her bodice and touch her bare skin.

One hand remained in his hair, but her other was worming its way between them, working at his armor. She had unfastened several buckles, and was just one away from removing his cuirass when the situation caught up with him. He had thought to seduce her slowly and entice her into the guild, but Emeline's enthusiasm would be his undoing. Reluctantly, he caught her hand, and put a small distance between them.

"Lass," even to his own ear, Brynjolf's voice was strained. "We've got a mite of talking to do before we get any further."

She sighed heartily, but nodded. Emeline took a step back and crossed her arms, lifting her bosom and allowing him a splendid view of her cleavage over the low neckline of the dress.

"What you did tonight was unacceptable." He informed her. Those deliciously sweet lips turned downward into a frown, but she didn't say anything. "Maven Black-Briar is important and-"

"She's a horrible woman." Emeline interrupted. Her eyes flashed with anger and she stomped her foot, reinforcing his idea that she had once been a spoiled little lady. "She deserved to be a little shaken up."

"My Guild relies upon her to-"

Again Emeline interrupted.

"Your guild  _relying_  upon her is why it's in decline. You've become her pets, living in her pocket. The reason nobody  _fears_ you anymore is because you do her bidding, and unless they cross Maven-"

This time he interrupted her by placing his finger to her lips.

"Emeline, by the nine, woman.  _Listen_ to me." He knew he was scowling, and his words were a near-growl. "I want you in our Guild."

Surprise flashed across her features, though he wasn't sure whether it was due to his statement, or the fact that he had been so up-front about what he wanted. She seemed to think over his words, her anger slipping from her slowly.

"What's in it for me?" She asked finally, her demeanor once more calm.

"What would it take?" He was cautious, unwilling to commit until she showed her hand. All along he had misread her and her intentions, he realized. He had expected her to do one thing, and she had done another. He had made assumptions, and though it made him feel the fool, he knew the only way to avoid making worse mistakes with Emeline was to see what was really there instead of what he wanted.

Gods, this was a horrible time to be having an epiphany about underestimating the lass. He anticipated her demanding something outrageous, something he could not possibly grant.

"You're going to have to... convince me." She smiled at him again, that coy little smile that taunted and tempted him so. "Are you up to the task?"


	8. Chapter 8

The minx knew exactly what she was doing as she began running her hands over her body. She needed convincing?  _This_ kind of convincing? He would be happy to convince her all night long if tumbling her was all it took.

"I'm certain I have the necessary qualifications," Brynjolf said, licking his suddenly dry lips and giving Emeline his best smile.

She laughed, and took a few steps back, further into her home. He saw a bed behind her and, hoping that had been her goal, swept her up quickly and deposited in her upon the soft mattress. She recovered quickly, moving so she was facing him, her feet on the floor, her body braced up on her elbows. Emeline smiled at him, and quirked one eyebrow in unspoken challenge.

Brynjolf was not a man to back down from a challenge like this. Especially not one as delicious as Emeline promised to be.

"We'd best be certain about the terms of this...  _convincing_ , lass." Brynjolf said, stepping forward. His knees bumped the edge of the bed as he stood between her thighs, enjoying the view. "What, _precisely_ do I need to do to convince you?"

Emeline quirked her head to the side, seemingly contemplating the terms of the "convincing" that was about to occur.

"You're wearing too much clothing for me to think properly," She said with absolute certainty. "I'm afraid you're going to have to remove something before I tell you what it will take."

Brynjolf laughed. She was a tricky one, his Emeline. He brought his hands to the last few fastenings of his cuirass. Her gaze was riveted to him, watching him move. He worked at the buckle, had it nearly undone, and then paused.

"I think we're going to need to keep this even, lass. If I take something off, you need to take something off as well."

"You first," her grin widened crookedly as she openly appraised him. "If I like what I see, I may be inclined to honor your request."

Brynjolf snorted. He didn't know how he could possibly have been so wrong about the minx. She was a tricky one, not the silly innocent he had expected for so long. Brynjolf let the cuirass clatter to the floor. Emeline smiled, and offered him one booted foot. The offer was clear in her eyes; he could undress them both, one article of clothing at a time.

His hands slid over the supple leather covering her calf. He tugged at the lacing slowly before sliding the boot off and dropping it as well. Emeline sighed softly, and fell back on the bed, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Lose the shirt."

Brynjolf smiled and began to remove it slowly.

"To be clear," Brynjolf said as he tugged his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor beside him. "If you are thoroughly  _convinced_ then you will assist my guild?"

He caught her ankle, slid his hands up her calf. She blinked at him slowly, her gaze on his face. She smiled at him crookedly.

"I do not know yet. There is simply too much... to be considered."

His fingers stilled as he thought about it. Really, he should leave the Lass where she lay and wait until he was sure his "convincing" would work. Really he should get her worked up and half-crazed before leaving.

But he wanted Emeline. Wanted her writhing beneath him whether there was a professional benefit or not. Getting her into the guild this way was just a... perk.

He drew the second boot off, slid his hands back up her leg, drawing her skirt up with it. Her skin was soft and bare beneath the generous fabric.

He expected her to squirm away, to demand that he remove some other article of clothing. Instead she let her head fall back as his hands found her bare hips.

She wasn't wearing any undergarments.

The realization dawned on him as she caught his gaze and smiled once more. The minx was doing it deliberately. Setting up this whole damned day to tease him.

And yet, he couldn't be properly upset about it.

His hands continued to stroke her warm flesh for a moment before he caught her by the hips and pulled her closer. She responded by sitting up and kissing his belly right at face-level.

And then her hands were on his belt, and his trousers, baring him to her gaze.

His hardened cock sprang free and was almost immediately seized in a warm, wet mouth.

"Emeline," he groaned. "Lass," He battled himself, his own need. He wanted to keep playing her game, but he didn't want her to stop and he couldn't focus with her tongue stroking him like that.

One of her hands gripped his ass, moving him in time with her. The other hand was elsewhere until it wasn't, and she was stroking his balls gently.

She bobbed her head with more finesse and enthusiasm than some of the ladies of loose morals he'd lain with in the past. It was a strange thing to reconcile; the innocent Emeline vs this experienced vixen who was making him weak in the knees.

"Lass, I'm gonna-" he was like a schoolboy again, spilling his seed with little warning. She caught it all in her mouth, swallowed, and smiled up at him.

"A gentleman returns the favor," she informed him, sliding the bodice of her dress down to her hips and exposing more creamy skin to him.

He grinned. He would  _gladly_  return the favor.


	9. Chapter 9

Mere moments later, his head was between her thighs and her hands were fisted in his hair. She was making the best sort of noises, short little gasps and occasionally moaning.

He teased her with his tongue, stroking and flicking and generally enjoying each of her reactions. With as long as he'd been chasing her, it was incredibly satisfying to have her here, her clothes in disarray, sprawled on her bed and him savoring her.

His tongue circled her clit, and she made a new noise. He did it again, then flicked it, and it wasn't long before her thighs were clenched tight around his head, and her breath was coming faster.

"Gods," she sighed, her head falling back. His hand snaked up along her body, caught one breast and tweaked the nipple as he slid two fingers from his other hand into her. Seemingly that was all it took as she clenched down hard and came on his fingers. He smiled and stroked her once or twice more with his tongue before sitting back on his heels.

"Was that satisfactory?" He couldn't stop himself from smirking as he asked. He  _knew_  she had enjoyed it. He wore the evidence on his face and fingers. She lifted her head enough to fix him with a stare. He caught her eyes and took that moment to slowly lick his fingers clean. She made a small noise, and then let her head drop once more.

He felt the stirrings of another erection.

Gods but she was perfect. Her dark hair was wilder than it had been, her skin was flushed. Her dark eyes sparkled at him through her thick lashes, and her full lips were parted slightly as she breathed. With each breath her breasts moved, and if it weren't for the need that overtook him more with each passing moment, he might have been able to stare each day.

But the lass was stroking herself, her hands trailing across her skin to her own breasts, which she cupped in her hands and caressed. He continued staring as one hand left her breast and kept sliding down along her belly. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she began to stroke her own nether regions.

His mouth went dry, and he stiffened further as he watched her writhe for herself. He heard her small chuckle, and when he looked to see why, she was watching his face.

"Must I convince myself, Brynjolf?" She was smiling, but he sensed a seriousness to her question.

So it wasn't entirely a ploy. The lass joining his guild really did depend upon his ability to satisfy her. Or it was, and she was just teasing him, but somehow he wasn't so sure about that as he might have been.

He finished disrobing, dropping his clothing and gear on the floor unceremoniously. Then he slid the rest of her clothing off her, until they were both naked. He couldn't help staring at her, loving the soft curves of her body, the smoothness of her skin. He wanted to discover and catalogue her marks and scars. Wanted to know her body as he had never known another.

There was something about this lass.

Perhaps it was the games she was playing, or perhaps it was just  _her_  but he wanted her as he had wanted no other.

He sat on the bed, pulled her forward until she was straddling him, poised above him. He kissed her breast, caught her hips in his grip, and pressed her down onto his hardened cock. She made a small noise, something between a sigh and a moan, and then she was lifting herself, and lowering herself once more. The movements were shallow, teasing. He gripped her tighter and pressed. She didn't resist.

Then he was fully in her.

And they were moving together and she was gasping and he might have been, too. And he was close to the edge, too close. And her hand was snaking down between them and she was stroking her own clit as she rode him. And he was thinking of anything he could to just last a little longer, and she was arching her back and saying words that he couldn't comprehend at the moment and then he was spilling his seed inside her.

She kept moving, just a few moments longer until she was shuddering and clenching around him.

He fell back on the bed and brought her with him. Worn, and sticky from sweat and other bodily fluids, he simply rearranged them so they were both laying on the bed beside each other. He groped around for blankets, but Emeline was faster.

Content and tired, Brynjolf drifted off.


	10. Chapter 10

When Brynjolf woke, the bed beside him was empty but for a note.

> _B,_
> 
> _Consider me convinced._
> 
> _I've got a few things to wrap up elsewhere in Skyrim before I can help whip your guild into shape, but I will be back. Trust me._
> 
> _Though I've got no objection to a bit more convincing upon my return._
> 
> _XX_   
> _~E_
> 
> _P.S. You should really rethink your relationship with Mara._

He was torn between cursing and laughing. The sassy minx had bested him again. It hurt his ego, but he loved that she was so clever. Brynjolf crumpled the note up, thought about throwing it into the fire. Had a change of heart, and stuffed it into his pocket instead.

Emeline had two weeks, he decided. Two weeks to come back to Riften before he went to find her and drag her back here. They had things to take care of, and she had agreed she'd join his guild.

And besides, he had more  _convincing_  to do.


End file.
